


Gentle in Victory

by jeahtastic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 2007 Afghanistan, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Military AU, Modern AU, Pining, Slow Burn, badass army doctor!Hux, brief descriptions of violence and injury, from afar, it is a warzone, mutual pining because they are idiots in any universe, soldier!Kylo/Ben, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeahtastic/pseuds/jeahtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m Hux, by the way. Captain Hux. No need to salute though.”</p>
<p>The man leveled a glare at him. “Wasn’t planning to.”</p>
<p>Hux stifled a laugh at the image before him: this great, hulking man with the stick-out ears positively <i>pouting</i>. What lunacy.</p>
<p>---<br/>Captain Hux of the Royal Army Medical Corps is assigned to Kandahar, Afghanistan for his next tour of duty. There he meets Sergeant Ben Solo of the US Army. It goes about as well as can be expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentle in Victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holodex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holodex/gifts).



> Done as part of the Kylux Feb Fic Exchange. Dear giftee: I chose the first prompt but I had a hard time imagining Hux as a nurse (or even a regular doctor), thus the dramatic change. I hope you still like it /o\

The hospital was barely more than a patchwork of unpainted plywood and tent, held together by sheer will and necessity. Fortunately this region of Afghanistan was known for its dry mountain heat and unlikely to produce gusts of wind to knock down the precarious structure.

It was a bad day. For some reason, carnage always followed the transition into warmer weather. Springtime in Kandahar apparently meant danger for soldiers and utter mayhem for the medical professionals on base.

Captain Hux, proud officer of the Royal Army Medical Corps, was elbow deep in blood as he desperately tried to revive the young boy underneath his hands. All around him doctors and nurses were working madly, the air tight with a palpable tension. Hux was calm, only speaking to call for more blood or instruct a nurse.

His patient was ten or eleven at most, an Afghan child caught in the crossfire as he gathered brush. The world narrowed down to only what mattered: the wounds, multiple, instruments being handed over, the small gasps from the boy, who was being so very brave. Hux told him as much and was met with scared brown eyes. Hux offered a quick smile, aiming for reassuring but probably missing by a mile due to the blood splattered on his cheek and forehead when he wiped away sweat.

Finally the boy passed out from pain and Hux couldn’t help but think it merciful. He knew enough Pashto to make out what the boy was crying out before he lost consciousness. _Father! Father!_

It echoed in his head as he worked long into the night.

 

* * *

 

_One month prior_

 

The C-130 Hercules was a hulking metal beast, its four turboprops slicing rhythmically through the air. The whine of the engines drowned out any thoughts Hux might’ve had as he settled in for the three hour flight to Kandahar Airfield.

Two long metal benches ran down the length of the aircraft on either side. He dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of one, tucking his duffel bag between his legs. The journey to the base has been a long one and Hux was exhausted. He ran a hand through his hair, cropped short for regulation just before he left home. Between his haircut and freshly shaved face he must look terribly young, a fact Hux has always hated.

He must’ve fallen asleep because he suddenly found himself opening his eyes, the back of his head banging against metal as the plane dipped against turbulence. Wincing in annoyance more than pain, he caught the eyes of the soldier sitting across from him, who was staring with an unwarranted intensity. American, judging by the fatigues.

As a medical officer, Hux didn't participate in any of the joint training exercises between the British and American troops. But he's interacted with plenty of them on various bases, and they seem like a friendly enough bunch. Usually loud and obnoxious.

This one was quiet. And seemed to have a propensity for staring. Hux smirked. “Come here often?”

The soldier quickly looked away, suddenly preoccupied with his boots. His ears flushed pink, noticeable even through the tan common of those who's spent any time in Afghanistan. And what ears. If Hux’s buzz cut made him look young, the soldier’s made him look like Dumbo. It was rather endearing.

Hux tried again, feeling oddly amiable. It must be the sun getting to him. “You headed for Kandahar Airfield, yeah?” It was a redundant question but there was a slim possibility the soldier was getting transferred to a patrol base further out in the sticks.

The American grunted an affirmative then, seeming to dredge up his manners from somewhere deep within, said, “Yeah. You?”

“Same. I think most of us here are.” Although there weren’t many of them. The aircraft only had a few passengers: a handful of soldiers and a couple of civilians, no doubt foreign-service agents or some other government type.

The American nodded and glanced at Hux’s sleeve. “Medical?”

“Yes.” Unlike Hux’s uniform where the Union Jack and medical shield were sewn in, the American’s uniform was void of all identifiers except for the flag velcroed on. Hux took a guess anyway. “Army?”

The soldier nodded.

“And…” Hux took an appraising look up and down the other man, who reddened under his scrutiny. “Corporal?”

The soldier bristled a bit, frowning. “Sergeant, actually.”

That kind of reaction, he must be newly promoted. Hux tampered down the temptation to antagonize the man further. “My apologies.” But he couldn’t resist adding, “I’m Hux, by the way. Captain Hux. No need to salute though.”

The man leveled a glare at him. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Hux stifled a laugh at the image before him: this great, hulking man with the stick-out ears positively _pouting_. What lunacy.

It was quiet for the rest of the trip, which suited Hux just fine. Soon they arrived on base and Hux fetched his duffel bag, making his way to the exit when the American muttered something. “Pardon?” Hux asked.

They were both at the mouth of the ramp when the other man stuck a hand out and said “Solo. Ben Solo.”

Hux smiled and grasped the offered hand. “Brendol Hux.”

 

* * *

 

It was evening when his shift ended, the night air crisp without the oppressive heat of the sun. Hux slipped out of a side entrance and leaned against a wall of the hospital, taking a deep breath and releasing it with a shudder. Today was the worst he’d seen in the month or so he’d been here, which was saying something, and he had a desperate need for a cigarette.

He was just regretting his decision to try to quit and thus not bring any smokes with him, when the red cherry of a lit cigarette caught his eye. A short walk from the hospital was Hux’s favorite bench, situated underneath a tree that provided much needed shade during the day. Now it just left the spot in darkness, all except for the glowing end of a cigarette.

Hux was walking towards it before he was even aware he’d moved.

Whoever was sitting on his bench was bathed in shadow and Hux felt awkward addressing a stranger he couldn’t see. “Hello. I was just, uh, wondering if--”

A pale hand thrusted a pack of cigarettes at him and Hux was so eager to snatch it he almost forgot to mutter ‘thanks’. He tapped one out and had it between his lips before he remembered he didn’t have a lighter on him. As if reading his mind the stranger stuck out a light and flicked it on. The small space around them was suddenly illuminated and Hux was surprised to see the American from the plane seated before him. Solo, Hux recalled.

In the past month Hux had caught glimpses of the man. Across the room in the dining hall. Hanging around the base. Sometimes carrying another soldier into the hospital only to rush out to bring in another. There never seemed to be an opportune time to chat. Not that Hux particularly wanted to.

Solo’s eyes were dark and deep set, his prominent features thrown into sharp relief by the flickering flame. He held a cigarette between his lips, nearly down to the filter as he smirked around it. Solo lifted the lighter a bit as if to remind Hux it was there for a reason.

Hux leaned down, the cherry igniting as he cupped his hand protectively around the flame, conscious of the other man’s gaze boring into him. The lighter flicked off, enveloping them in darkness once again.

Hux took a satisfying drag and exhaled with a sigh. God, he missed this. Opting to not stand around, he all but collapsed on the seat next to Solo. They smoked in companionable silence for the next few minutes, Solo lighting another one when he finished his first.

“So how’ve you been?”

Hux nearly startled at the voice. He wasn’t expecting conversation. “As well as can be expected.”

They were quiet again, thoughts returning to the events of earlier today. The whole base was aware of the mass casualties suffered from a downed Chinook. The chopper was carrying all Americans and for a split second, as soldiers were being shuttled in on stretchers, Hux wondered if he was going to see Solo.

Alright, so maybe occasionally Hux’s thoughts wandered and he thought about the blushing American Sergeant he met on his way here. Maybe he thought about approaching Ben when he saw him on base, just to catch up. Even if it was only to break up the dreadful cycle of his 12 hour (or more) shifts, which always ended with Hux feeling a lot older than his thirty-odd years.

And maybe Hux thought of Ben when he was in the barracks, drifting off to a weary sleep and feeling so terribly defeated.

“There was a boy today.” Hux blurted.

Solo shifted besides him, indicated by the swing of the red cherry of his cigarette. He made an inquisitive noise.

“Couldn’t have been older than twelve.” Hux continued. “Caught a bullet in his side.”

Solo was quiet but Hux could sense him staring in his direction, and Hux was grateful for the cover of darkness.

“He kept calling for his father.” Hux took a deep drag of his cig and exhaled a little too quickly. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him his father was in the next tent over, dead.”

His statement hung in the air between them. Hux didn’t know why he was sharing this. He’d been a medical officer long enough where today wasn’t even the most tragic thing he’d seen. And he didn’t know Ben’s history but the Sergeant had probably been around enough to see some shit, too.

Just as Hux was starting to feel foolish, Solo spoke, his deep voice a low rumble. “Did the boy survive?”

Hux nodded before he remembered it couldn’t be seen. “Yes. Barely. But yes.”

“You saved him?”

“I operated on him, yes.”

“Then you make sure he lives. And that’s all that matters.”

When stated so matter-of-factly, Hux found it hard to argue against. Or maybe he just wanted to believe it. Needed to.

Hux finished his cigarette but he didn’t get up immediately, needing a moment. Then Ben finished too but he also stayed.

It was a nice night, warm with a floral hint on the wind that beckoned spring. Through the branches above them, Hux could make out the stars. The lights of the hospital seemed far away, like a mirage in a hazy desert.

A hand reached out and hesitantly rested on Hux’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort. Apparently Ben wasn’t good with words either. Hux couldn’t help leaning into the touch, willing the tension from his body. Tomorrow was another day and he needed all the strength he had. But for now, let him indulge in his moment of weakness.   

 

* * *

 

Over the next couple of weeks Hux saw more of Solo than he had for the entire previous month. Well, he didn’t exactly “see” more of him, since all their meetings have so far been on that bench in the middle of the night. Ben was conveniently free after the end of every one of Hux’s shifts.

Hux wasn’t complaining. Solo seemed to have an endless supply of cigarettes, although Hux would prefer a brand slightly less shitty than ‘American Spirit’. The first time Hux was finally able to read the label, he had bursted out laughing.

“What?” Solo had asked, confused.

“You don’t find the name ironic? In our situation?”

“I guess. Kind of fitting, really.”

“I think it’s offensive.”

There was a beat of silence. And then Ben leaned in close, squinting to make out the expression on Hux’s face in the dark. Hux was valiantly trying to look serious.

Ben glared. “No you don’t.”

“How dare you--”

“You’re just trying to get me to bring different cigarettes.”

They glared at each other, a Mexican stand-off with no winners. Then Hux cracked and started to laugh. “Alright fine, you got me. But those really are the bloody worst fags I’ve ever tasted.”

Ben blinked at him, still hovering close. His hair had grown out a bit but apparently not enough to break regulation. Dark wisps were just starting to curl around his ears. Unthinkingly, Hux reached out and tucked a strand back into place. “I think you need a haircut.” Hux said.

Ben had left almost immediately after that and Hux didn’t see him for two days afterwards. Hux wondered did he say something to offend the man. Maybe Ben had stronger opinions about his cigarettes than Hux thought.

On the third night after Ben fled the scene, Hux was exiting the hospital, about to head straight back to the barracks, when he saw Ben.

Ben was waiting for him and trying very hard to look like he wasn’t. Unfortunately, the hospital was located in the northernmost tip of the base, far away from nearly everything else except the other medical tents. It didn’t stop Ben from making up an excuse. “I was on my way to my compound.”

Hux politely didn’t mention that the US compound was in the other direction. “Kind of you to stop by.” He also politely refused to ask where Ben had been for the last couple of nights. It wasn’t like they had a formal arrangement or anything. It was just a routine of convenience.

They gravitated towards their usual bench and Hux didn’t know when he had started to think of it as “their” bench. He only knows that he went straight back to his barracks the last two nights rather than sit there without Ben. Which would’ve been silly anyway, without a smoke.

Ben lit one up, then passed the pack to Hux. Hux tapped out a cig and held it between his lips, leaning in automatically for the light that Ben had ready.

During this moment, Hux found that he liked watching the flame reflected in Ben’s eyes. The glow seemed to be emitting from within the man, making his eyes darker and lighter all at once. Ben’s gaze was usually half-lidded, too focused on Hux’s lips to notice Hux staring right back. And that was sort of the whole problem, wasn’t it?

Hux pulled back and inhaled, then exhaled with a note of surprise. “This is a different brand, isn’t it?” He studied the package in the dim light to make sure.

Besides him, Ben shrugged, which Hux felt more than saw. “Figured you’d like it more than the other ones. Because you have bad taste.”

Hux snorted around his cig. He glanced sideways at Ben, barely making out his features from the dim ambient light. He knew Ben had moles on his face. Beauty marks, Hux had called them just to annoy the man. Predictably, Ben had pouted at the term. It was on one of the nights that Ben decided to walk Hux back to his barracks, claiming he was heading that way anyway, and the street lights dotted around the base were bright enough to illuminate the both of them.

“You do have beauty marks!” Hux crowed.

“Don’t call them that.” Ben turned his face away.

“How many do you have? Let me see.” Hux walked backwards in front of Ben, who kept turning his face this way and that to keep Hux from looking. Exasperated at Ben’s display, Hux stopped right in front of him and grabbed Ben’s face in his hands, holding him still. “Stop that, let me see.”

Ben looked like a deer caught in the headlights as he stared down at Hux. His face was very warm underneath Hux’s hands.

Hux ran his eyes all over, greedy now that he had quite literally seized the opportunity. Ben’s hair was nearly long enough to comb over into a part. His brows were furrowed, so Hux smoothed a thumb over them. His fingers traveled lower, over Ben’s cheekbones, his jaw, finally resting on his neck where Hux can feel his pulse racing.

Hux flicked his eyes up from where he’d been staring at Ben’s mouth. “I think you look fine.” he said softly.

Then suddenly there was only empty space where Ben was standing. Ben had backed up hastily, muttering something about how he had to go and goodnight, nearly tripping over himself.

“You’re right about that.”

“Right about what?” Ben asked from besides him on the bench.

Hux was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize they’d been quiet for a while. “You’re right that I have bad taste.”

 

* * *

 

At the beginning of the third month of Hux’s six month tour, the hospital switched his shift to end around four in the afternoon. It was such a jarring change that Hux had to drink three times his usual amount of coffee, which was already quite high. It felt like trying to shake off jetlag. While performing surgeries.

During his break, Hux went to procure yet another cup of brew. On his way back to the hospital, Hux passed by the memorial to fallen soldiers, an area set aside with granite slabs and a concrete platform. He decided to stop and pay his respects, reading the names off each slab with a quiet contemplation.

“You’re allowed outside of the hospital?” A deep voice rumbled in his ear.

Hux was smiling before he caught himself. He turned to face Ben. “They haven’t chained us to the walls. Yet.” He glanced down at the cup in Ben’s hand. “I thought you don’t drink coffee?”

“I don’t.” Ben studied his boots. “This uh, was for you.”

Hux felt a pleased warmth settle low in his gut. “Well, I could always use more caffeine.”

“How are you handling the shift change?” Ben examined the bags under Hux’s pale eyes.

“Like shit. And what are you doing here? Aren’t you usually off base by now?”

“My patrol starts in a bit, yeah.” Ben looked away. “Just thought I’d drop by. With some coffee.”

Hux hid his smile by turning back to the memorial. He was just about to comment on it when a high-pitched whistling sounded and a rocket shot overhead, red smoke trailing behind it.

Ben was pulling Hux to the ground before the explosion even landed, only a few meters away. Hux landed in a crouch, eyeing the next compound over where the blast hit, waiting for the call for medical, if any.

A second rocket whizzed by. The attack siren went off. Around them soldiers laid flat on the ground, the new recruits peeking nervously at the sky from underneath their arms while the veterans, those with two or three tours under their belts, scouted the area for shelter.

When the third rocket hit, it was further away. Then it was quiet for a few minutes save for the siren, during which Hux realized Ben was still clutching him, one hand on his back keeping him low while the other cradled the back of his head. This close, Hux could smell the baby-powder scent of army issued soap, could see the moles on Ben’s neck.

The deafening thumps of choppers taking off drowned out all other noise. Ben was watching them fly overhead, towards the direction of the launch site, when Hux loosely grasped his shoulders. Ben looked down at him, as if just noticing their positions.

“I should probably get back to hospital.” Hux said gently, like Ben was a skittish animal he didn’t want to scare away. Surrounded by the granite walls of the memorial, the world felt closed off and distant.

Hux was close enough to see the flecks of hazel in those dark eyes, and he wondered what Ben saw reflected in his own pale gaze. It would take so little effort to just lean in, give into the tension that hung around their interactions like an incessant fly. They had never discussed it, this unspoken _thing_ of theirs, and in all honesty Hux was afraid to. Saying it out loud would make it real. Or worse, make it not.

Hux laid awake some nights despite his bone-deep exhaustion. He imagined conversations that could’ve gone differently, fleeting touches that should’ve lingered. He wondered why his courage, always present during times of adversity, goes missing in the quiet moments.    

As he tossed and turned on his thin mattress, Hux worried that it was all in his head, a product of the stressful environment and prolonged time away from creature comforts. He worried that he saw what he wanted to see when Ben looked at him, eyes soft and a corner of his mouth ticked up. A voice whispered from a dark, secret place he had buried long ago: _stop projecting; focus, soldier, these distractions will get you killed_. It sounded suspiciously like his father.

The attack siren cut off. In the new quiet, Hux can hear Ben’s breathing. Or perhaps it was his own, tangled together in the small space between them. Ben did not pull away, instead preoccupied with stroking the fine hairs on the back of Hux’s neck with a thumb. Hux shivered, even with the hot Afghan sun bearing down on them. His eyes dropped to the other man’s mouth and he _wanted_ , so much.

“You…” Ben started. Hux was mesmerized by those lips shaping out the word. “You should probably get back.”

Hux’s eyes snapped up only to find that Ben wasn’t even looking at him. It was like a spell was broken. Hux clamored to his feet, suddenly embarrassed. The feeling must be mutual because Ben still couldn’t face him as he brushed the dirt off his knees, adjusted his uniform, basically looking at anything but Hux.

“Right, well.” Hux rubbed the back of his neck, pointedly not thinking about the protective hand that was just there. “I better go. They’re probably calling for me.”

He didn’t hear Ben’s reply, too busy trying to put as much distance between him and the other man as possible. He even managed to snag a ride back, which was justified seeing as he was a doctor on duty, and it wasn’t until he ran up to the hospital that he realized he’d dropped his coffee during the aerial assault.

Casualties were minimal, few people were in the compound that was hit. As he snapped on a pair of latex gloves, Hux vowed to redouble his efforts in his work. He’d joined the service for a reason and not just because it was a family tradition. He was losing focus on what really mattered out here.

It won’t happen again.

 

* * *

 

Loneliness was a natural part of Hux’s profession. Back when he was still on general duties, his regiment had him deployed to Helmand and then Kabul. Both times he was stationed at small patrol bases way out in the countryside, one of the only medical officers on site, two if he was lucky.

Bonds formed quickly out on the frontlines when danger was quite literally on your doorstep. But Hux soon learned that forming attachments was even more dangerous, especially when he might one day be elbow deep in their internals. His time spent in London for his surgical training had made him forget, made him soft.

His new position here hasn’t helped, either. Kandahar Airfield was a like a mini-city, with ten thousand personnel from dozens of countries. He wasn’t fooled into a false sense of security, not with the injuries he still saw on a semi-regular basis, but maybe he had dropped his guard a bit. There was electricity and running water. Also a dining hall that served hot meals and a coffee shop right on base. He even had a medical team, bare-bones but still more than he ever had before.

And then there was Ben Solo, with his ridiculous ears and lines framing his mouth when he laughed. Who still showed up with coffee even though Hux had been ignoring him for nearly two weeks.

The first few days were hard. Hux would slip out a side exit after his shift but there were only so many ways to walk to the medical barracks before Solo caught on. And he kept showing up in the evenings when Hux started his rotation, irresistible cup of coffee in hand.

On one of the occasions, during a silent and subdued walk to the hospital, Solo had asked, “Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

Hux had stopped. They were underneath one of the panel lights dotted around the base and Hux looked searchingly into Solo’s face. When met with nothing but genuine confusion, Hux shook his head. “I’m just tired. Looking forward to going home.”

Solo still brought the sporadic cup of coffee, but more frequent patrols further out into the mountains had been keeping him busy.

It was for the best, Hux thought. In three months’ time Kandahar will be a memory, another line in his dossier. And Ben Solo will be even less than that.

The news of an ambush on a military convoy reached the hospital long before the injured arrived. An IED took out the lead truck as enemies opened fire on the rest of the soldiers, who were stuck at the disadvantageous position at the bottom of a valley. Sixteen Americans total, eight survivors.

The rescue helicopters dropped off men in groups of three or four. As they were wheeled into the tent, Hux recognized a few of their faces. They were in Ben’s squad. One of them, Corporal Hudson according to his tags, had waved to Hux from the passenger seat of a humvee earlier today. Hudson was unconscious, bleeding profusely from the head. Even without close examination, Hux could tell the soldier had been close to the lead vehicle, if not directly behind it. His pelvis was shattered, the lower half of his body a mess.

Hux’s heart was in his throat. He concentrated on the man in front of him, calling for more blood, always more blood. As the nurse cut off the soldier’s uniform, Hux eyes darted to the entrance where more men were being carried in. Every dark haired head on a stretcher sent his pulse into overdrive.

And then, there he was. Ben was still conscious on the stretcher but he was covered in blood, the khaki of his uniform stained beyond recognition.

“Lieutenant Mitaka, take over.” Hux instructed. “He needs a CT scan, most likely hemorrhaging.” Then he was making his way over, tunnel vision allowing him to navigate the carnage with speed.

“I’m fine, I’m okay,” Ben was saying to a nurse. He redirected his pleads to Hux when he got near. “Hux! Tell them to take care of the others first. Garrison, he was in the front. And Mendez, he was-- he was--”

“Shut up.” Hux grabbed Ben’s chin, which stopped his babbling as Hux shined a light in his eyes. Responsive. Good. Hux quickly assessed the rest of him, relieved to find that most of the blood didn’t seem to originate from Ben. But when he got to his leg, Ben grimaced.

Cutting away his uniform revealed shrapnel embedded in his thigh. Further prodding hinted at a fractured kneecap, maybe worse. Hux tended to the bleeding wounds as best as he could before turning to the nurse. “Take an x-ray, we’d need to stabilize his fracture before evacuation.”

The nurse nodded sharply, already pushing the stretcher to the back when Ben grabbed Hux’s arm. “Evacuation? I’m not going anywhere. Why aren’t you taking care of my men?”

“Because I’m busy taking care of you.” Hux narrowed his eyes. “Now are you going to cooperate or am I going to have to sedate you?”

“Hux.” Ben hissed, face twisted up in an angry clench. Face smeared with blood and eyes wild, Ben would have intimated any number of men.

Hux was not impressed. “Sedation it is.”

With Ben stabilized and blissfully quiet, Hux was able to tend to the other seven soldiers with the help of his team. Most were stable enough to endure the long wait for the arrival of the evacuation team. A couple didn’t need to be evacuated at all.

The x-ray showed Ben’s kneecap fracture to be more minor than it first appeared, and the shrapnel were whole, decent sized pieces shallowly embedded, which made for easy removal.

When the evacuation team arrived seven hours later, Ben was sleeping peacefully.

“We’re full for this round but we can make a second trip,” said the Captain, gesturing to the helicopter. “Is there any more?”

Hux glanced back at the hospital as if he could see through the walls to where Ben was resting. “No. Nothing that can’t wait for a later arrangement.”

With a sharp salute, the Captain headed back.

Hux found himself standing over Ben’s prone form. He was running on nearly thirty hours without sleep but he couldn’t seem to make himself move. What he needed right now was a quick shower and the hard mattress in the barracks.

Instead he grasped Ben’s pale hand, needing to feel his pulse for a minute. Ben’s hair was getting unruly, the top starting to flop over like bangs. Hux brushed them aside. Someone had wiped the blood off Ben’s face, for which Hux was glad. He could finally study the other man’s face without interruption, could trace a line from mole to mole if he wished.

Hux sighed through his nose and headed to the next bed over. He dragged the flimsy privacy curtain around them and collapsed on the empty bed, instantly passing out.

 

* * *

 

Hux awoke to sound of bitching. He pried his eyelids opened, disoriented for a moment about where he was, until he turned his head and saw Ben Solo arguing with his head nurse.

“I have the cast, I don’t need the rest of the stuff.” Ben was saying as he tried to struggle out of bed, held back by a petite woman who wore the long suffering expression of a medical professional who did not have time for this.

“Lieutenant,” Hux called. The woman whipped around, relief in her eyes. “I’ll keep an eye on the Sergeant. I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She scurried away, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

Hux swung his legs over the side of the bed, scritching his five o’clock shadow as he tried to shake off the grogginess. Vaguely, he noted that Ben was alternating glares between the IV in his arm and Hux.

“Don’t touch that.” Hux warned, although Ben was already picking at the tape holding the IV in place.

Ben gave him a dirty look. “You drugged me.”

“Drugging people is like 50% of my job, to be honest.”

“You should’ve helped the others first.”

“They were being tended to. You are aware I’m not the only adequate doctor on this base?”

Ben huffed and continued to pick at his IV. Hux was struck by how young he looked, even with the hospital gown barely covering his hulking frame. Hux left and returned with a blanket, which he carefully laid over Ben’s stiff legs. Ben pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and muttered a ‘thanks’.

Hux was about to leave when Ben grabbed his sleeve. Hux tilted his head in question.

“Who survived?”

“None in the first vehicle.”

Ben nodded as if he thought as much.

“I believe Private Carter was on foot.”

That also got a nod.

“And Hudson did not make it through the night.”

Ben inhaled sharply but remained stoic otherwise. Having seen the exact same reaction enough times, Hux sat gently on the edge of the bed by Ben’s hip. He was glad Ben did not pull away when he took his hand.

They were silent for a long moment, not exactly mourning (that comes later, when they’re back on home turf and everything feels off) but each contemplating the event from their respective sides. Ben was absentmindedly stroking the back of Hux’s hand when he spoke. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

A denial was on the tip of his tongue, but Hux was suddenly too tired for it. “Because I had to.”

“Why?” Ben asked plaintively. “I thought we were friends.”

Pulling his hand away, Hux felt a sharp pang of anger. Anger for all the wrong reasons, anger at himself.

Ben sat up and scooted forward as much as his injury allowed. “Hux.”

Looking at his hands in his lap, Hux tamped down the swell of shame and frustration that threatened to overcome him. “I don’t want your friendship.” he said lowly, almost a whisper.

The other man went still. Then a hand reached out and turned Hux by the chin. Dark eyes roved over his face, searching for something. From this close Hux could make out the fine lines around Ben’s eyes, the beauty mark above his brow.

When Ben kissed him it was without fanfare, a quick peck that felt stolen, soft lips gone as sudden as they appeared. The tips of his ears were flushed and Hux was reminded of their first meeting on the plane, of the Sergeant who couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Hux dove in for a firmer kiss, trying to build something concrete so he’d know it really happened later. Maybe Ben had the same idea as he was now clutching the back of Hux’s head, the other hand palming his jaw.

Ben broke the kiss to nuzzle behind his ear, one hand snaking down the front of Hux’s uniform shirt and as much as Hux would’ve liked that hand to reach its destination, he halted its progress. “Ben, slow down before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Ben whined in between kisses down Hux’s neck. It was almost distracting enough to let him continue. Almost.

“Actually, you’re not.” Hux placed a firm hand on his chest. “You’re going home, Ben.”

To Hux’s surprise, the other man didn’t put up a fight. He simply touch their foreheads together and sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Hux asked.

“For not realizing this,” he waved a hand at the both of them. “sooner.”

“You _are_ a little slow on the uptake.”

Ben rolled his eyes before pulling Hux in for another kiss.

 

* * *

 

Spring was in full bloom in Kandahar. Sipping a cup of coffee during his break, Hux was seated on his favorite bench, sun dribbling through the branches above him. He took out a letter from his front pocket. He’d been saving to read it all day.

The enveloped said “CAPT Brendol Hux, RAMC” in a messy scrawl. It was old fashioned but charming, Hux had to admit. Also necessary since the internet on base was spotty on the best of days. He pulled out the letter. It was short but Ben never had been good with words, and it was already a vast improvement from the first one he’d received nearly two months ago.

 

_Hux,_

 

_Physical therapy is going well. I can go on jogs again. Short ones. Regular therapy is going okay. I still don’t think I need it. But I don’t hate it._

_I miss you. Your rotation should be up by the time you get this. You can come visit me in New York, if you want. Stay awhile. I would really like that._

 

_Be safe. x_

_Ben_

 

Hux tucked away the letter with a smile. He tapped out a cigarette from the pack that was included in the care package Ben sent. Some godawful American brand again. He rarely finishes a cig, much less the whole pack. Maybe that was the point.

He exhaled slowly, watching the tendrils of smoke curl through the branches, floating far away. He wondered what the weather was like in New York this time of year.

Well, he’ll find out soon enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://jeahtastic.tumblr.com/) ♥
> 
> I'll most likely be writing an epilogue for this. Something explicit, knowing me. Will also be going through this again, maybe making some slight changes and adding a couple scenes just for kicks. After I get some sleep.


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